


I'm Tangled Up in You

by shakespeareishq



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hammocks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareishq/pseuds/shakespeareishq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom goes to visit Ken. There is cuddling and schmoopy sex and Shakespeare.  </p><p>(Written back in 2012 for tumblr and now slightly edited here for your viewing pleasure.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Tangled Up in You

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary mentions, I wrote this a while ago back before I had an ao3 account, and then by the time I HAD an account, I'd forgotten about it until I did a Thor rewatch today and remembered that I am all about the Branneston. 
> 
> Ken was knighted in November of 2012, and this fic was written a few weeks after that, so that's what Ken and Tom are celebrating here. They've been good friends since at least Othello? I think? (Tom's Othello) Or shortly after that, and they've done a bunch of projects together but so far no Shakespeare. ALAS.

Ken buys himself a hammock. He has no intentions of making a big deal out of his achievement, but one small present to himself seems perfectly reasonable.

After a bit of hassle setting the thing up, he eventually makes sure it’s not going to collapse the first time he sits down, grabs a book and a frankly enormous duvet, and goes outside to enjoy the cool afternoon, lasting less than ten minutes before he falls asleep.

This is how Tom finds him, later, when afternoon has given way to evening and Tom finally arrives from the airport, first spending a long few moments knocking on Ken’s door trying to figure out why no one was answering. He spots the hammock, and Ken breathing softly in it, when he eventually thinks to walk around the house to see if it was the back door Ken left unlocked and not the front, like he’d thought.

He chuckles to himself, thinking that Ken looks, well, cute like this, hair sticking up at odd angles and his book currently getting its spine damaged with the way it’s lying upside down on his stomach. Tom first saves the book, setting it on top of his bag by the tree at one end of the hammock—he knows Ken will thank him later—then gently shakes Ken’s shoulder until he stirs and blinks up at Tom with an expression of distinct confusion on his face.

Tom bites his knuckle trying not to laugh. He only barely succeeds. “Hello there,” he teases.

“Tom? God you’re here already. What time is it?” Ken yawns and sits up, rubbing his hands over his face to shake off the sleep, “I’m sorry about falling asleep on you, no one told me how deceptive these things were. One minute I’m wide awake, and apparently the next you’re here and I’ve already failed as a host.”

This time Tom does laugh, running a self-deprecating hand through his hair and shaking his head. “No. No really Ken it’s fine. I’d never begrudge you sleep, especially since you seem to do enough of that yourself,” he says, half joking and half chiding. A sudden gust of wind causes Tom to shiver and pull his jacket tighter about him, making Ken look even more flustered at the sight of his friend’s discomfort.

“Look. I’m making it even worse now.” He pulls back the duvet and motions for Tom to join him. “Come on get in. We probably won’t wake up early enough to come out here in the morning before you leave, and you should try it at least the one time.”

Tom indulges him and carefully sits on the edge so he can remove his socks and shoes before ungracefully rolling in next to Ken. He ends up with his back facing the other man, and gravity assures that they’re already close together, but Ken wastes no time in pulling Tom that last inch so that it’s impossible to call what they’re doing anything other than cuddling. That’s perfectly alright with Tom; he likes being the little spoon, feeling every sleep-warm inch of Ken against his back, loving the way Ken laces the fingers of one hand together with Tom’s and slips his other hand up under Tom’s T-shirt to splay out on his stomach, Ken’s thumb rubbing in slow circles.

Tom tips his head back onto Ken’s shoulder, completely relaxing into his arms, and again says, “Hello,” this time much quieter, still with a fond edge reminiscent of his earlier greeting.

“Hello to you too, love. How was your trip?” Ken asks, the vibration of his voice landing somewhere just behind Tom’s ear and after far too long with only impersonal emails and the rarest of late night phone calls, feeling Ken’s voice instead of only hearing it is something close to magic.

Tom lets his eyes fall shut, wanting to enjoy the sensation. “Too long, as always. Better now though that I’m here,” he responds quietly, almost a murmur, “congratulations, by the way.”

Ken hums somewhat noncommittally at that. “I’m happier about the excuse to come home for a few days. To see you,” he says, squeezing Tom’s hand. He lets go and his hands start wandering, up Tom’s arms, down Tom’s chest, giving his hip another squeeze. He even shifts his foot down so he can rub his toes over the sole and arch of Tom’s foot. The contact feels glorious, but it’s not quite sexual – Tom almost laughs at the thought that Ken is treating him like a particularly large cat— but after a long time apart they both feel the need to reestablish their connection. Tom breathes out a sigh, wishing briefly for them to still be filming Thor so they’d have an excuse to live in each other’s pockets without anyone questioning overmuch. A good long run at the National, or the Donmar again maybe, that would be nice.

What he says is, “Do Shakespeare with me.”

Ken’s hands still in their massaging of Tom’s thighs. “When?”

“As soon as we’ve finished with everything else. Oh don’t laugh, there is a point someday when we’ll have time. I was thinking we could try Hamlet.” Tom turns to look at Ken, who moves to lie on his back so Tom can slide his arm over Ken’s chest. Their faces are so close his nose brushes along Ken’s cheek and Tom can’t see much more than a blur of warm skin. “Be my Claudius?”

Ken gives a snort of laughter, “You said that like you were asking me to be your Valentine.”

“Mmm maybe I am. Did you consider that? Think of it though, no one would possibly turn us down. I imagine you could even direct—I know I’d want you to, I mean,” Tom sits up so he can properly look in Ken’s eyes. “You can get performances out of me I had no idea I was capable of…Not that I could ever top you, of course.”

They both realize the potential for double entendre at very nearly the same instant, and suddenly platonic caresses can’t possibly be enough. Ken pulls Tom back into his arms for a kiss, which quickly morphs into several kisses, soft and exploratory. They finally pull away, Tom dipping his head to press playful kisses to the underside of Ken’s chin and down onto his neck.

“Lovely boy. How did I manage to get you?” Ken asks, stifling Tom’s laughing protest of “Ken I’m thirty-one!” with another kiss to continue, “And Hamlet’s not as hard as some people like to tell you. It isn’t about making him the best Hamlet so much as about making him your Hamlet.”

“Says the man whose done it, what, five times? Six?”

“You’d be wonderful, Tom. And of course I’ll be your Claudius, although the fact that you evidently want to stab me multiple times is worrying—ah!” Ken should’ve seen the light smack on his shoulder coming. He isn’t sorry, not if Tom keeps looking at him with that big fond smile of his. He catches Tom’s hand in his own to prevent further violence, and they’re having a rather touching moment when the silence is broken by the sound of Tom’s stomach grumbling.

Tom looks slightly self-conscious while Ken makes a small sound of despair. “My god. Darling, you mustn’t let me continue in this vein. I can’t be awake to greet you and now I can’t feed you. It’s a wonder you put up with me at all.”

“I have never had to ‘put up’ with you a day in my life. It’s all been more than willing on my part, trust me,” Tom assures him, “but I wouldn’t hate dinner either.”

They sit up and manage their way out of the hammock with some small difficulty. Ken bats Tom’s hands away from his bag with a protest that Tom has got to let him get something right. They make their way into the house, and soon Ken has tomatoes and an onion simmering on the stove while Tom boils pasta and spreads garlic and herbs over bread to toast.

They sit down on Ken’s sofa – no point in just the two of them going into the huge impersonal dining room—with plates piled high, and Ken pours them both generous glasses of deep red wine. After some slight begging (and getting Ken halfway through the second glass of wine), Tom finally coaxes Ken into telling him about the ceremony.

“So are you going to make everyone call you Sir Kenneth now?” Tom asks jokingly, knowing the answer but loving Ken’s adorably flustered reply.

“No no I couldn’t possibly. I think I’d be much too embarrassed if they did.”

“Well then,” Tom gives Ken a mischievous look as he sets aside their empty plates in order to dance his fingers up the inside of Ken’s thigh. “What about just Sir? You seem to be ok with that particular epithet, if you and I remember last Christmas the same way.”

Of course Ken remembers last Christmas. They’d had a whole week together, two days of which were passed curled up naked in front of Ken’s fire reading the sonnets, but he imagines Tom is more referring to the singularly memorable evening Tom spent blindfolded and tied to Ken’s bed, backside red from a truly impressive paddling. Ken’s introduction of ice cubes had made a lot more than ‘sir’ come out of Tom’s mouth that night, and Ken loses himself in the memory for a minute. Tom’s fingers keep working their way higher and Ken sighs in contentment as Tom strokes his thumb along the crease of his jeans.

Ken opens his eyes to give his friend an accusatory stare. “Tom you are the most incorrigible flirt I know. Promise me you’ll never change that.”

Tom looks a bit sheepish at that and bites his lip. The twinkle in his eye only manages to make the move appear calculated instead of demure. “Well you do bring it out in me.”

“And I would have it no other way,” Ken says, leaning in for a quick peck before grabbing their dishes and the now mostly empty wine bottle and padding into the kitchen.

Ken is at the sink soaping up the saucepan when he feels Tom’s hands encircle his waist and Tom’s warm face nuzzle into his neck. Tom brings one hand up and unbuttons the top half of Ken’s shirt so he can slide his fingers in and down over Ken’s nipple and rub until he feels it harden under his touch.

“Ken surely that can wait until morning,” he pleads. “Come on, it’s late. Take me to bed.” His voice drops low and he punctuates each couple of words with a kiss down Ken’s neck, ending with a soft bite on Ken’s now bare shoulder.

The saucepan is hurriedly forgotten as Ken turns in Tom’s arms, which Tom takes as an invitation to back him against the sink and finish his unbuttoning, sliding the shirt over Ken’s shoulders so it pools at his elbows. This allows Tom to trail his hands over Ken’s stomach and chest, stroking up the length of Ken’s arms to end up cupping his face and leaning in for a kiss, now decidedly more promise-filled than their lazy kissing in the hammock had been. Tom’s tongue licks along the seam of Ken’s lips, seeking entrance. Ken can deny him nothing, especially not when it comes to sex, meaning that somehow the washing up has turned into a half-naked snog—somehow made hotter by the fact that Tom is still fully clothed. Ken grabs a fistful of Tom’s shirt as purchase to pull him that much closer and reaches around to gain a thorough appreciation for the way Tom’s ass fills out his jeans. Ken takes a minutes to shuck his own shirt, tying it low around his hips. Tom wastes no time in grabbing Ken’s hand so he can lead them upstairs, getting sidetracked once or twice along the way because it’s very difficult to Tom to see him looking like that and not kiss him senseless.

Eventually, however, they’re in Ken’s room, and Ken manages to extricate himself from Tom’s wandering hands and mouth to disappear briefly into the bathroom, returning again in only his dressing gown. Tom laughs at the fact that Ken bothered with the thing at all, because soon Ken is wonderfully naked and climbing onto the bed, giving Tom a magnificent view of Ken’s ass as he does so.  

“Well I think, since it’s my knighthood we’re celebrating, I should make you do all the work” Ken muses, reclining back on the mattress with a grin. Tom has to take a moment to appreciate the sight of his very naked, very aroused lover all spread out like that, not a speck of self-consciousness in him, with his hands behind his head and looking entirely too much like the proverbial cat who’d got the cream.

“And what work did you have in mind that I’d do?” He almost doesn’t say it, but the look of shock which quickly replaces itself with want on Ken’s face when he adds a “sir” to the end of his sentence gives Tom an inward thrill, glad he made the right decision.

“Well you could start by getting undressed, nothing much will happen when you’ve still got so many bloody layers on.”

Tom agrees with this statement wholeheartedly, and soon strips his clothes off, leaving them in a messy pile on the floor. Some other time he would’ve folded them neatly, possibly even put them away, but Ken is right there, and they’re both a little drunk from a combination of the wine at dinner and the happiness at what his dear friend has achieved, and the sooner Tom can be in his arms and kissing that maddening grin which has found its way back to Ken’s face the better life will be.

Then he is there in Ken’s arms--in his lap, really—and they are kissing and Ken can’t stop tugging on Tom’s curls which is perfectly alright with Tom because he needs that slight edge of pain to keep him focused on Ken and not to get too lost in his own pleasure, and he himself is probably leaving fingerprint bruises on Ken’s arms and shoulders with the way he can’t stop gripping them. God it’s perfect. It gets more perfect when Tom shifts up a bit to straddle Ken’s hips so he can get a better angle and their cocks accidentally brush together, leaving them both shuddering into each other’s mouths. They lose control of the kiss and end up laughing into each other’s mouths from the sheer giddiness of it.

“We can afford to be slightly less hasty, you know. Sir.” Tom says, though his words are rendered muffled and slightly hypocritical from the sucking kisses he’s pressing to the underside of Ken’s jaw, Ken baring his neck to let Tom do as he likes and giving a small ‘mmm’ of contentment when Tom nuzzles his way over to Ken’s ear and briefly sucks the lobe in his mouth.

This is the pace they’re more accustomed to. Slower. Exploratory, in a way. Like they’re relearning each other’s bodies all over again. Tom leaning back to run his hands over Ken’s chest and arms, almost like a massage, taking care to brush the pads of his thumbs and the heels of his palms over Ken’s nipples and loving the soft sigh the motion elicits. Ken tends to be quiet in bed, and Tom loves knowing that the sounds he does cause are because Ken cannot control himself enough to hold them in. Mostly he just loves Ken, who is currently reaching up to run his own thumb over Tom’s well-kissed bottom lip. Tom obliges and lets it slip into his mouth, savoring the rough texture and salt on his tongue.

He times a particularly pointed press on Ken’s nipple to coincide with a particularly pointed suck on Ken’s thumb and, yes, that’s the exact sound he was hoping to hear. He ducks down, feeling the rapidly cooling wetness of Ken’s thumb on his cheek sliding up to his hair again. The caress turns into an actual grip when Tom sucks on the nipple he’d just been abusing.

“You should really grow your hair back out, love. It suits you better.”

“You’d just pull it all out again. Then where would we be? In order to have hair of what color it please God, you do need to have hair.”

“Does that make you Beatrice, then?”

“Why not? I always thought their relationship would turn out the best, in the long run I mean. And you do make an incredibly dashing Benedick. I think I had a bit of a crush on you back then.” Tom laughed, “I still do, in fact.”

“Oh god. I don’t want to think about how old you were when I made that.” Ken tips his head back and his hand begins to card through his own hair at this remark, but Tom catches it, drawing Ken’s arm up to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist and hold Ken’s palm against the side of his face.

“So stop thinking. Kiss me.”

“Oh? Is that an order?”

“Please stop thinking and kiss me sir.”

Ken of course does so, shifting the playful tone into something more urgent, tongue sliding deep and slick and hot against Tom’s. His hands reach lower now, down Tom’s back to grab what he can of his ass and kneading, Tom shifting to give him more access and moaning into the kiss.

When they finally manage to pull themselves apart long enough to catch their breaths, Ken reaches into the night table to grab lube, but Tom stops him when he reaches for a condom.

“Have you had sex with anyone since I last visited?”

“No.” And that was nearly five months ago. Ken suppresses the thought that it sounded terribly depressing put into those terms.

“Neither have I, and we didn’t need one then. We will if you want, but—“

“No, you’re right. I’d much rather feel you.” Tom grins and makes his way down Ken’s chest, dragging his nose through Ken’s chest hair and leaving kisses nearly too light to be felt. It tickles and Ken laughs, which turns quickly into a gasp and a low moan when Tom starts laving Ken’s bellybutton with his tongue in such a thorough approximation of what he’d soon be doing to other bits of his anatomy that Ken closes his eyes and simply allows the sensations to wash over him.

Tom leaves off thrusting his tongue and finally moves down to where Ken needs him. But giving the head of Ken’s cock only the barest brush of his lips, Tom turns instead to first licking and then blowing cool air over the sensitive skin of Ken’s inner thighs. Ken’s eyes snap open and he lets out a small sound of surprise at the cold, and Tom apologizes by granting Ken’s cock a more thorough treatment, licking up the shaft and briefly letting the tip slide into his mouth, but quickly moving back down to suck what will surely be an impressive love bite tomorrow into the juncture of Ken’s leg and pelvis.

Ken finds it very impressive that Tom has the coordination necessary to flick open the cap of the lube while still preoccupied with his thighs, but somehow Tom manages to slick his fingers and hitch Ken’s legs up over his shoulders so he can slide his mouth down Ken’s cock at the same time he slides his fingers inside, but not before running his tongue once over Ken’s hole, causing Ken to swear. Loudly.

Tom grinned at that. “Next time I’ll eat you out properly,” he says, biting his lip and looking up through his eyelashes for one coquettish moment before beginning to work Ken over properly.

Ken swore again at that.

“You are a wicked wicked man. And, ah, if you don’t leave off right now and fuck me I’m afraid it will be over before we’ve begun.”

“Yes sir.” And with that, Tom obeys.

It doesn’t last long. Tom had been holding himself back all evening because tonight was supposed to be about Ken, but the consequence of this was that it was over sooner than he would’ve liked. Or maybe it wasn’t. Honestly, with the tight hot feel of Ken around him, and the sloppy kisses they exchanged, mostly catching the corner of a mouth or a cheek, one hand entwined with Ken’s and the other braced on the bed he’d lost himself in time for a bit. His climax hit him much too soon, however. It always felt too soon, with Ken. As soon as Tom comes back to reality he wraps his hand around Ken’s still leaking cock and in half a dozen strokes Ken too is spilling over Tom’s fingers with a long sigh of contentment.

They spend another few minutes kissing and caressing each other, coming down from the high of endorphins and adrenaline, until finally Tom pulls out and shuffles into the bathroom to retrieve a cloth to clean up with, cooling flushed skin and wiping away the evidence of their passion in a stroke. Soon they are curled up together under the duvet, and they’re both nearing sleep but Ken still reaches down to kiss Tom’s hair – and to mumble another comment about growing it, “maybe just for you I will,” Tom answers, but Ken’s breathing has evened out and he doesn’t hear him.

One day when they both have magically free schedules Tom envisions them spending a week together. Two weeks, even. His first thought is that they’d never manage to leave the bed, and he has to stop the chuckle wanting to escape lest he wake Ken, but he also thinks about how nice it would be. To take things a bit slower, maybe even venture an actual date. Tom won’t ever sit up and cry over the fact that he and Ken are only casual lovers, but daydreaming about the possibilities is harmless enough. After all, that schoolboy crush never quite went away. He falls asleep thinking about ways to get Ken to recite some of Benedick’s speeches for him before he has to leave tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
